sueeeus

I’ve just dropped the boys off with their dad.  I crave the tidbits of kid-free time that it affords me, but as soon as we part, I fall apart.  Every time.  If I’m not crying on my way home, I’m crying by the time I get there.

I’m nothing, if not consistent.

~*~*~

I try to put my finger on it.  I think a part of it is grief over the absence of a nuclear family.  It seems like it should be so simple.  Why can’t the man be the man and do his job as a man, the woman be the woman, and do her job as a woman, and the couple be a couple and do their job as a couple?  It worked in Mayberry RFD.  It seems like the Cleavers and the Cunninghams had it figured out, too.

Maybe it’s even more simple than that.  Why can’t the grownups be grownups and do what grownups are supposed to do?

~*~*~

I put some valentine goodies together for the boys to share with the other kids, and a card and box of chocolates for them to give their dad and his wife.  I wasn’t planning to do anything at all for Valentine’s Day, but it occurred to me that other kids in school will probably be exchanging valentines, and I don’t want my BB to show up empty handed and feel awkward about it.  So.  He will be well prepared.  While perusing the options, it also occurred to me that the new kids, the step-brother and sisters, would probably be delighted to receive valentines from the boys.  And of course, their dad would probably appreciate the sentiment from his boys as well.

I am a saint.

Mostly, I hope to instill thoughtfulness in my boys.  I doubt they will pick up on it much now, but if I’m consistent and steady, they will hopefully –eventually– learn to think of others, and not just themselves.

~*~*~

I have to get used to the fact that our life isn’t a storybook life.  It’s our own story, and we’re living it, and we’re living it fairly well.  I know this.  I have evidence.  My boys are healthy, boisterous, imaginative, inquisitive, humorous, and playful.  They laugh.  They tease me, tickle me, and play tricks on me.  They sleep soundly.  They are happy.  They know they are loved.

So this morning we got a phone call from Sissy’s mother. Apparently, she has quite a case of head lice.

She said she’s been itching a lot, for about a week. Of course she didn’t mention this to us while she was here.

Never having experienced such a thing, I consulted Doctor Google. And read horrifying things about chemical treatments. And heartening things about dealing with the situation. Thankfully.

I bought a special comb and inspected BB. He seems to be okay. The comb hurts him too much and he won’t hold still long enough to do any sort of reasonable job, but I just cut his hair the other day, and it’s very short. I don’t see anything there.

Similarly, I cut Gadget’s hair very short the other day as well, and don’t see anything there.

I spent an hour and a half in the shower, working through my own hair. And found nits. About six of them. Or maybe ten. I don’t know. It’s very distressing. The comb yanked out handfuls of hair, like a razor blade, and left my scalp feeling raw, so no wonder BB wouldn’t cooperate.

I’m going to go through Gadget’s next, with the comb. He had more contact with his daughter than I did, but he has so much less hair than I do. Hopefully he’s nit free.

Now I have to go through this scalp raking for a while until I am certain I’m nit free. At least I didn’t find anything hatched, which means I might have caught it in time. I hope.

Maybe I’ll just shave BB and Gadget’s heads, for good measure.

For me, I’m not ready for the Sinead O’Connor look.

And I have a lot more laundry to do.

Now there’s a joyful looking woman. It’s amazing, really, how one can achieve so many different looks, depending on the angle of the camera. I don’t think this looks anything like me. But for a not very joyful person, she looks sort of pretty.

This looks more like me, but again, I cheat by taking the photo from a vantage so as to obliterate the multiple chin factor. Tricks of the trade. I like the blonde, but it still takes me by surprise once in a while.

So what’s new around here?

• I’m pretty sure I’m going to be ordered to start injecting insulin, after I see my doctor tomorrow. The numbers have remained bad. Sure, it coincides with the presence of the step-kids, coupled with an incredibly stressful bout of work, but it also coincides with third trimester or whatever that magical placental week is when all hell breaks loose in the realm of blood sugar control. I feel somewhat of a failure, as I thought I’d be able to manage the sugars on my own, but I’m no match for my present circumstances. Now, to try and coordinate a 3-month prescription before the end of June, because my medical insurance is switching to a new plan, thanks to my company’s unrelenting cost-cutting measures, and the new plan is fraught with more paperwork, claims, copays, and deductibles.
• Gadget thinks I’m being anti-social. Hey, my laptop is at the dining table, and everyone else is watching TV. That’s as social as I feel like being. And besides, these people aren’t the most considerate of youngsters. When I do enter the family room, nobody makes a move to make room for me on the couch. Our couch is a sectional with a chaise, so it can seat 5 very comfortably, but Gadget’s in his spot (the chaise), Sissy is next to him, and Bubba is stretched out over the remainder, stinky feet and all. Now, another, well-mannered, well-raised child (like any of Suse’s fine bunch) would hop up immediately to offer a seat. But not these. No. In fact, I actually did want to join them the other day, but met with the afore-described scenario, to which Gadget was disappointingly oblivious, so went to the dining table instead. My Beautiful Boy, BB (soon to be Big Brother), sweetly asked me, “Don’t you want to come sit with me, Mommy?” I told him there’s no room for me over there. He went and made a little spot for us on the floor. What an angel. Melts my heart. But I told him I didn’t want to sit on the floor. Especially with self-centered teenagers who are oblivious to the physical constraints of a large, pregnant woman.
• My work has been crazy ridiculous. I work in customer service, supporting very expensive widgets. Once in a while we get demanding requests in which we are expected to be miracle workers. Decode this data and tell me if my widget is in compliance with the widget regulators, and by the way, we bought it from somebody who changed it, and we don’t have any information that describes the changes. But do it anyway. And do it now. Because if you don’t, this widget will not be able to service our valued customers and we will lose tons of money. So do it now. And if you find anything wrong, tell us what it is and tell us how to fix it. So. Some people have amazing faculties in which they remain undaunted by such demands, but I have yet to achieve, let alone master that particular skill. I was able to get something put together, by the skin of my teeth, but it’s not at all satisfying. I sent the final report out today, with a big ‘FAIL’ marked on it, so I’ve been half expecting a phone call at home, requesting emergency troubleshooting to resolve those items which I failed. But what can I say? Dudes. If you don’t tell me how it’s wired, I can’t tell you how to fix it. Leave me alone!  As if I could really say that.
• BB loves having his half-sister and step-brother here, but he’s regressing and there will have to be a period of damage control in which we (that means I) re-establish good behavior. I do like how much fun he has. He has laughing fits and plays hard, hard, hard. But he also picks up on the belligerence and other attitudes milling about, so that part I don’t like so much.
• I discovered that my right ear has a mutant skin condition, much to my chagrin. My ears used to be my only near-perfect physical attribute, so it was with some horror that I discovered this condition today. I don’t know why it’s only one ear (thankful that it’s not two!) or if it’s stress-related or blood-sugar related (does diabetes affect the skin?) or what. Maybe I just got a sunburn and it’s peeling. It’s all red with flaky skin, so maybe it’s an eczema or something. Whatever it is, it’s not pretty, and I don’t like it.  I’m blaming the step-kids.  😉
• I should take a picture of my belly.  At 28 weeks, it’s magnificent, in the sense that a manatee is magnificent.
• I’ve lost my temper with Bubba a few times.  It makes my blood boil when he barks, yells, reprimands, or scolds my BB.  I told him NOT to do that any more, that I will do the reprimanding, and he’s supposed to be an adult, and take into consideration that three year olds behave like three year olds and learn to manage his own words and reactions.  July 8th can’t come soon enough for me.  I’m not proud of myself, but I just don’t have the time or energy to invest in nurturing him into a considerate, thoughtful, well-mannered, pleasant person.  That ship has sailed.
• I’m doing okay with Sissy, which is a relief, because she is Gadget’s flesh and blood.
• The magnesium is working.  No leg cramps!
• I’m going to have a 4D ultrasound of LB (Little Brother) on Thursday — I will get to see his beautiful face!  It’s a splurge, but I’m not likely to have any more children, and I had it done with BB.  I’m excited to get a look at this beautiful little boy.  Pictures to come!
• I’m spending a good part of my waking time trying not to be on the verge of tears; chalking it up to hormones and the home invasion.  I really need some good alone time.
• Blogging away ad-nauseum like this helps.  I’ve thankfully consumed the better part of the evening.
• Some day I’ll probably look back on this time and be even more ashamed of myself for my attitude re the home invasion.  But if I know myself well, I’ll likely deny it.
• Over and out.

The stepkids started whispering between themselves the other day, and when asked to share what they were talking about, they said it’s a secret that has nothing to do with the rest of us, and we’ll find out Sunday.

Oh?  Father’s Day? 

No, it has nothing to do with that.

So.  It turns out that the big secret is that according to their church, they aren’t to work on Sundays.

I wonder if they were complaining to their mother that I was having them work every day.  I only assign actual jobs on weekdays, and on weekends we do whatever, and sometimes that includes work, but it’s not scheduled labor, by any means.  I was planning on seeing to it that we do fun family things on the weekends while they’re here, but I’ve just lost all my oomph for that.  Gone.  Vamoose.

I’m a bit miffed, and maybe I’m taking it all wrong, but I said something about how we’ll not be doing anything tomorrow, because we’ll make it a day of rest and respect.  So, no movies, no games, no outings, no shopping.  A day of rest.  And meditation.

Gadget thinks I’m being ridiculous.  Or mean.  Or both.

I could see the importance of observing the ‘day of rest’, if they were actually people of devotion with gentle and meek souls, who lived their beliefs by speaking kindness one to another, showing consideration to others, and being generally wholesome in nature. 

Instead, I see it as an excuse to wield their will over mine, and I wasn’t even planning on imposing any chores on weekends, other than the things that need to be done daily anyway, like clearing the table and washing the dishes.  So now I want to be belligerent, and tell them that if they’re hungry, they can get themselves a bowl of cereal or a slice of cheese, because I won’t be working on cooking tomorrow.  And if they won’t do the dishes, I’ll save them for them to do the next day.  And by no means will I allow television during the day.

I’m a hard ass.  I know.

And my blood sugar is sky high.  180.  Most distressing.